Under the Radar
by Foxieglove
Summary: When Forge is picked up by the MRD for not sticking to the letter of Wolverine's orders, he makes an unlikely friend in his new cellmate.
1. Chapter 1

Well. This sucked.

Of all the experiences Forge had while signing up with the Xmen, being thrown into the back of an MRD wagon was certainly a new one. The inventor sighed and looked down at his bound hands. And it had been such a stupid capture too. He should've listened to Wolverine, should have stuck with the group even though circumstances that caused him to sneak off had been understandably dire.

Maybe not to Wolverine exactly, but they had been to Forge. Another pothole and sudden turn sent his stomach to lurching. The driving skills of the guy at the wheel left something to be desired, Forge thought, as he tried to keep seated. One would think they'd put seatbelts in, especially if they were going to hire New York cabbies to do their transportation. Although, from what Forge already knew about the MRD, they liked to cut corners on issues of mutant safety and comfort - so he wasn't altogether surprised.

When the bumpy ride ended, Forge was hustled along through gates and past cells, having a lot to say and very little courage to say it. He concentrated on being the model prisoner for now and didn't resist, even when they used unnecessary force to shove him into a cell. This one was already occupied.

"Play nice with your roommate," the guard behind him warned. "More of your kind keeps popping up unexpectedly and we're running out of cells."

He said that as though it were all somehow Forge's fault. Right. Since he was clearly a lady's man.

The electric barrier powered back up and he was left to bond with said 'roomie'. Joy. Even more so when Forge recognized the guy.

". . . you're with the Brotherhood," he stated intelligently.

Mortimer lifted his forehead from the wall, where he'd been lightly banging it while swearing under his breath. It was safe to say he'd already recognized Forge.

"Yeah, so? You got a problem with that?" Toynbee sneered. He wasn't in the mood.

Forge seemed blithely unaware and sat down on the opposite bunk. If they could even be called that; they mostly resembled body-length shelves. He craned his neck to read initials scratched into the surface.

Mort watched him warily. Well, at least he seemed to be a quiet Xman. "You're the mad scientist guy, right?"

"Huh? Oh, guess you could call it that. Except I've never gotten to cackle maniacally and scream 'It's alive!' during a lightning storm. Well, okay I did try it once, and then Storm zapped me. Apparently it's not funny anymore."

So much for him being a quiet one then. "Weirdo," Toad muttered under his breath.

"Yeah, well, mad scientist," Forge pointed out, shrugging.

Mortimer smirked at him, but only a little. Encouraged, Forge posed a question.

"So what happens next?"

"What're you talking about?"

"Is this it? We're just . . . stuck here all night staring at the walls?"

"Oh no," Mort drawled sarcastically. "See usually we have an officer come around and write down orders for Chinese take-out." He rolled his eyes disdainfully.

Forge frowned. "Now you've got me craving egg rolls," he complained.

Mort was about to retort something rude, but then scowled at the floor. "Me too," he admitted unhappily.

Both mutants sighed plaintively.

"My name's Forge," one supplied after a moment.

Mortimer couldn't remember asking, but he shrugged. "Mort. Mortimer Toynbee. Or just Toad. Whatever you wanna call me is fine. Don't really care."

"Mort sounds nice," Forge said thoughtfully. The atmosphere was still a downer in here. He felt that something positive needed said. "We're not killing each other yet," he said hesitantly; he had the tendency to jinx these things.

"Do you snore?" Mortimer asked bluntly.

"Um . . . I don't think so? Nobody's really said anything if I do."

"Then we'll see." Mort laid down on his side, facing Forge. "So how'd an X-man end up in here?" He lifted an eyebrow curiously as Forge's face reddened.

"I . . . kinda . . ." Forge trailed off, looking at his left shoe. About a minute passed and he'd said nothing further.

Well. This had to be one _fuck_ of a story. Mort raised his head a little. "Go on."

"We were trying to stop an MRD raid on Emma's school. Cause she died recently. And I really had to . . .uh . . ." Forge was actually fidgeting.

Mort blinked. Then the corners of his mouth quirked up. "You had to take a leak?"

"It wouldn't have been a problem! If Wolverine had just let me duck inside another building for one _minute_ - instead of dragging me into a school with people firing guns and screaming - then I wouldn't have had to sneak off! I swear, I think Frost remodeled her school since I was last there. I couldn't find a restroom anywhere in that - oh, stop laughing!"

Mortimer had rolled off his bunk and was currently having a fit on the floor.

"Ahahahaha! I'm sorry dude! That's the - that's the stuff that happens to like _anyone else!_" Mort cackled helplessly. Forge crossed his arms and stared at the energy barrier, fuming.

"I didn't have to go before we left, so don't bother asking why I didn't," was all he had to say in his defense.

Unfortunately that just made Mort giggle harder. "I - I mean, that would hap-happen to _me_, not - not to an _Xman!_" he gasped.

"Mmrph." That was all Forge had to say about that .Mortimer at last regained composure and swatted lightly at the man's ankle.

"Aw, c'mon. Don't be sore! I get caught in stupid ways too," he offered. "A lot of stupid ways. Just not ever _that _one." Mortimer started snickering again.

Somewhat mollified, Forge relaxed. "Okay, so how did _you_ get caught?"

"Uh, this time?" Mort sat up, sobering a little. "Well, I was sort of upset with one of my teammates." Dominic, though he didn't say that. The man had been even more insufferable after Pietro left for Genosha. "And I . . . I needed a cigarette. So I snuck into the back door of a bar to get to their vending machine. You know, 'cause I couldn't exactly walk into a gas station store."

Forge nodded and Mort continued. "These two chicks came outta the bathrooms and saw me and started screamin' their heads off. I made for the back door, but the bouncer was out on his smoke break and coming in that way, so I . . . I took off in the other direction. Where everyone else was. Big mistake."

He had a healing bruise on his cheek under his left eye, Forge noticed now. And split lips.

"They managed to bring me down, then someone called the MRD. Actually, I'm probably lucky the MRD showed up when they did."

The MRD were bad, but civilians taking a mutant's punishment into their own hands? For Mortimer, it could've ended so much worse. Forge winced. "Yeah, no kidding."

Mort was quiet for a moment, plucking at his gloves. Forge didn't know he'd been here a little over a week. "The Brotherhood will come for me though. So I'm not worried." He swallowed to smooth the crack in his voice. "I'm sure the Xmen will come for you."

"Once they figure out where I am, sure." Forge supplied. _If_ they figured it out. Emma was gone and Cerebro was useless without her. Part of him was anxious that they wouldn't care to after tonight. Wolverine had to be pissed as hell right about now. The only reason he'd come to get Forge out would be to personally rip him a new one. In that case, Forge would quite frankly rather sit in a cell until Logan calmed down.

"Lights out!" called a voice down the hall. All the cell interiors went dark. Forge squinted and rubbed at his eyes to get rid of the spots in his vision. He heard Mort get off the ground to stretch out on his bunk again. "Goodnight," Forge ventured.

"Yeah, night." Mort returned quietly. His vision at night was better, so he looked up and tried to count the grooves in the ceiling. Maybe he'd come up with a different number than the previous night. And the night before that. So far, the number was always thirty-two.

As it turned out, Forge _d__id_ snore. It was oddly comforting to listen to.


	2. Chapter 2

The trouble with prison, Forge soon realized, wasn't its guards or its food, or even the company in his cell. It was the boredom that crept under his skin, chafing him into gradual insanity.

There were no books, no games, nothing to tinker with. Just the same old cell and the same boring cheap furniture. Forge had been entertained briefly that morning by trying to find the Ikea sticker on either of the bunks. He had not succeeded; if the MRD _were _frugal, they'd at least taken pains to eradicate the evidence.

There was even the same recycled frequency of volts in the electric bars. Forge had torn up the napkin that came with their breakfast trays into tiny strips. He'd rolled them into tinier balls and flicked them one by one into the beams, which deflected them into the hallway. Now he had no more bits of paper to throw.

How was it exactly that the MRD expected their prisoners to stay out of trouble? Forge sighed and stared at the ceiling.

"Thirty two," Mort supplied distractedly and Forge gave him a withering look. Mortimer appeared instantly guilty. "Oh, sorry. Guess I should've let you count."

Happily this wasn't an issue, for Mortimer had alternative methods of entertainment that he was generously prepared to include Forge into.

"Okay, okay, you gotta keep quiet for a minute, alright?"

Forge looked at the green man curiously as Mort made shushing motions while looking out between the electric bars of their cell.

He turned his head, craning to see whatever Toynbee could see from that angle. Before the soldier even came into his line of vision past the cell, Mortimer hollered out.

"Hey, jerk wad! Overcompensating much?"

The soldier was carrying a huge gun, standard edition, against his shoulder. Though Forge could see his mouth twitching in irritation, the man marched past without a word.

"Hah! Okay, he didn't say anything, but did you see his lips? He so wanted to!"

"What exactly is the point of this again?" Forge asked.

"Dude, it's a game to while away the time. Insult the soldiers and try to make them lose it and yell back. The next one is all yours." Mortimer gestured generously.

Forge considered it. It did sound like fun. It also sounded stupid, but there was a lack of anything better to do with their seemingly limitless time.

He heard footsteps and scrambled for something to say.

"Hey! Um . . . you lily-livered scalawag! Your father was a hamster! No wait, your mom!"

The soldier actually stopped in his tracks and stared at him. Then he moved on, shaking his head in confusion. Forge was duly embarrassed.

"You . . . really _are_ new at this whole prison thing aren't ya?" Mort asked, hand over his face.

"Hey, I don't work well under pressure!"

"No kidding," Mort snickered, but not for very long. Forge heard someone else walking down the corridor and sat up, not noticing Mortimer stiffen in fear. Wanting to redeem himself, he opened his mouth to try again at soldier-baiting, only for Mort to make strange noises and flap his hands frantically for him to keep quiet.

Forge stared at him nonplussed, until the footsteps had paused before their cell.

"Good afternoon, Toad."

Mort was staring at a point on the wall just over Forge's head and looked as though he were remembering how to breathe. "H-How's it goin', Wraith?" he squeaked.

"That wasn't you I heard attempting to cause trouble just now, was it?"

Trembling, forcing himself to ignore his first impulse - which was to blame it all on Forge - Mortimer only shook his head. He surprisingly didn't want Forge to get in hot water and figured Wraith had been listening long enough to detect the lie anyway.

He'd taunted Wraith before, during one of his stays here. He had soon after regretted it severely. Mort swallowed hard. The other soldiers were trained to just ignore him, but Wraith was the one in charge.

"Good," Wraith said smoothly. "You should save your voice, Toad. You may be needing it later."

Mortimer suppressed a whimper and his grip on the edge of the bunk tightened. Wraith said nothing, merely walked on. Forge waited until his footsteps faded before looking back at Mort.

"That was a scary man."

"Yep," Mort said, after taking a breath and letting it out in a trembling rasp. "He is really starting to freak me out lately," he muttered.

"Do you think he's gonna do something?" Forge asked carefully. He wish he hadn't; it seemed to make Mort's panic worse.

"I don't know - I mean, it doesn't even matter. I might not even be here by tomorrow. They know where I am."

"You mean the Brotherhood?" Forge could tell that Mort was shaking.

"Yeah. They'll come. It's just taking them a little long, 'cause Pietro's on another mission, see? They're waiting for him to get back before they come for me."

"How long _have_ you been here?" he asked quietly.

Mortimer didn't answer the question, setting his jaw stubbornly. "They'll come. Soon. You'll see."

Wisely, Forge did not press the issue.

* * *

They came for Mort that night.

Forge woke up to screaming and struggled to sit up but a gun pressed into his chest, warning him. He only realized it was a gun after he thoughtlessly tried to push it aside, as if it were a branch in his way. Once the point jabbed in a bruising manner against his sternum, the machine's primary function became clear to him.

He remained still, trying to see in the dark. It was so dark. Of course it was; they'd turned off the beams.

Mortimer was fighting and from the sound of things, he was losing. White electricity crackled, illuminating his terrified face and drawing forth an agonized scream. Forge heard nothing further from his cell mate, only the sound of a body being dragged out into the corridor. The pressure of the gun left his chest and he sat up - too slowly as the green electric barrier reactivated.

"Hey! What - where are you taking him?!" Forge called, getting as close to the bars as he could. He could see vague outlines; two guards dragging Mortimer between them by his arms. Mort looked as though he was trying to regain his footing, to walk to where he was being taken. The guards kept the pace, not slowing enough to give him the option.

Rubbing at the soreness in his chest, Forge waited and received no answer. Soon he was no longer able see them. He went back to sit down on the bunk, feeling helpless and worried.

Toad was, or had once been, part of a terrorist group. He knew that. Wolverine had never spoken favorably about him. That didn't make what was happening to him any less wrong.

Forge stared at the beams and took a breath. He could feel his palms sweating and realized just how afraid he'd been. Still was. Could he have done something? There was no use determining what; he'd already missed his chance.

There was nothing to do now but wait.

* * *

"The question is not _if_ you will answer, but rather, _when. _What shape you will be in when you finally do is entirely your choice."

Wraith studied the tray in front of him with an almost bored air. He could hear Mortimer once again testing the strength of the restraints. For all his bravado, the fool had nearly come undone when the guards stripped him down to his waist. He'd curled on the ground to evade them, as if fearing they would expose him completely. Wraith had watched impassively, filing away information to use for later.

The guards had bound Mortimer's arms behind him to a thick metal t-post, while his legs were firmly anchored to bolts driven into the concrete floor. He wouldn't be kicking anyone tonight. Mortimer could neither kneel, nor could he stand fully upright; instead his bonds forced him to lean all his weight against the post. This position of helplessness only seemed to enhance his terror. Which was precisely the point.

He selected a tool and walked behind the trapped mutant. Toynbee was really going to sprain something in his neck if he kept trying to track Wraith's every move. "Well?"

"I ain't tellin' you anything!" Mortimer insisted, voice a little high.

"Indeed? Well, perhaps there _isn't_ any point to answering that. Your friends might be on their way here right now." The pained look on the mutant's face was most rewarding. Wraith moved in front of him again to view it better. "Why don't we waste a moment until they arrive?"

Toad raised his head defiantly, but had yet to stop looking as though he'd been kicked in the stomach.

"Would you say perhaps, another five minutes? Ten?" Wraith pressed. "I do not mind waiting."

He clasped his hands behind his back, aimlessly twirling the slender tool between thumb and forefinger as he watched the struggle of emotions on Mortimer's face.

"I don't know _when_ they're coming," Mort finally admitted, lowering his gaze.

Wraith tsked. "It's awfully rude of them not to call ahead, don't you think so? In that case, I'm afraid we _will_ have to start without them." He approached Mort who tried to flinch away as far as he could go. Wraith gathered a fistful of his dreadlocks and forced him to tilt his head back.

"No, no please -"

"Where are the Brotherhood?" Wraith asked, pressing something cold and metal against the sensitive flesh beneath Mortimer's arm. The mutant shuddered, only able to guess at what it was.

"I don't know where they are!"

"Where were you living before we captured you?"

"Nnngh, I . . . I can't tell you - they wouldn't be there anyway!"

"If they won't be there," Wraith said, lightly pinching skin between metal prongs, "What's the harm in telling me the address?"

Mort writhed, whining low in his throat. It didn't hurt, but it was about to. He had a knack for knowing such things. "I can't -"

The tool clamped shut, squeezing too hard and Mort shrieked, trying to pull away. Wraith simply held on, stationary, and let Mortimer do all the damage. Eventually the boy realized his folly and became still, whimpering and shaking. Wraith released the pliers, pleased to note that despite some redness, the skin was not broken.

One really had to do very little to people of Toad's caliber. He trailed the tool down Mortimer's side slowly, still forcing the mutant's gaze elsewhere. Right now, Mortimer was frightened of everything in this clean, sterilized room. He was more frightened of one thing in particular, and it was not Wraith.

"Once more. Same question."

Mortimer felt the skin at his hip gathering between metal and whimpered shrilly, but otherwise kept his lips clamped shut.

"Do you honestly think they're still coming for you, Toad? Truly? Because in that case, this might be the most pathetic display I have ever seen."

"They will. I swear - Pietro's just -"

"Nowhere to be seen. Brotherhood activity has been quite low in fact, since we first received the tip off about your old headquarters. Pietro Maximoff has not been spotted anywhere in the city, certainly not near any MRD holding facilities when he could - though it galls me to admit it - _easily _run in and out of them. Too busy to fit you into his schedule, I suppose?"

The boy swallowed and kept his mouth sealed, starting to tremble. He was already past the point of tears, but Wraith was relentless.

"Or perhaps, he cares about you more than even you realize. The leader of a team must often sacrifice its weakest link for the good of the others, but perhaps he has elected to leave you here for your own safety. Goodness knows, you'd be safer in a cell than evading Sentinels and mercenaries and frightened, armed civilians."

"But I'm not safe!" Mortimer choked out. "You're torturing me!"

"I haven't even broken your skin. Bruised it, perhaps, but nothing that won't heal. Incidentally, did you know there are countless ways to inflict pain on a person without drawing blood? Without leaving _any_ kind of mark whatsoever?" Wraith asked conversationally. Mortimer closed his eyes tightly and shuddered.

"You'll sample a few of those methods in the days to come. Possibly I'll be proven wrong; Pietro will come for you before the week is out and you'll be rescued. But unfortunately, he'll find that you have told me quite a few things about him. About the Brotherhood." Wraith smiled broadly and leaned closer, mouth nearly touching Mort's ear and keeping a firm grip on the boy's dreads as he tried to pull away. "And he'll see that you have barely a scratch on you. I wonder what he'll have to say about that?"

Mortimer made a low noise and, as Wraith watched, broke completely. Wraith said nothing, letting Mort's hair go and standing near him as the mutant wept raggedly, near strangling himself in his vain attempts to keep quiet.

Wraith tossed the pliers into the tray with a clang, making Mort flinch.

"While we still have plenty of work to do, I should think it safe to assume we'll have all of tomorrow night to start again. Provided we aren't once again asked to wait for your friends?"

Hitching and still keening lowly, Mortimer shook his head.

"Good. I'm going to let you go back to your cell now. Where you can think about what's going to happen to you in this room tomorrow night - all night - unless you reply with solid answers to my every question. 'I don't know' or 'I can't tell you' are _not _solid answers. Just to help clarify."

Wraith turned his back on Mort, once again clasping his hands behind his back. "Return Toad back to his cell," he told the guards.

Tomorrow, Mortimer would be more ready to participate. Fear and anguish would make him more prone to panic. Panic would make him sing. By the time he finished singing, Toynbee would fervently _hope_ the Brotherhood never came.


	3. Chapter 3

Forge's eyes snapped open and it was with great shame that he realized he'd dozed sitting up. The drone of the energy beams had started their cycle anew and Forge blinked hard, eyes refocusing in the half-dark. Someone was in the cell again with him, moving slowly into an upright position from the floor.

"Mort?" Forge squeaked, and cleared his throat. "Mortimer?"

He stood up, reaching out toward the other mutant. His hand encountered the smooth skin of a shoulder, then the body jerked away as if burnt.

"Sorry. Hey . . . did they injure you?"

Probably a stupid question, but Mort didn't answer and Forge's concern only grew. He was doing something to his hands and Forge reached out once more, trying to get Mort to sit down at least. He seemed very on edge - understandable for being dragged off in the middle of the night by soldiers - and it was putting Forge on edge just watching him. His hand failed to catch Mort's and came away wet. "What - hey, what are you doing?"

He caught Mort's wrists on the second try and pulled him further toward the light of the bars. There were gashes and slices and before Forge could assume the guards had done this, he saw the blood under Mort's fingernails. "Why are you doing that to yourself? Don't," he admonished gently and wished he hadn't torn up the napkins earlier. Mort's hands were trembling in his as the mutant stared forward with a glassy expression.

He looked like he needed to sit. Forge made him sit, wiping at the blood with one of his gloves since he had nothing else. Just when he thought he was making progress in calming the guy down, Mortimer made a sudden noise and wrenched away, attempting to retreat to the farthest corner of the cell.

"What? Hey no, sit back down -"

"No, no, no, no . . . " Mortimer was muttering, digging his claws into the back of his hand again. Fat drops of blood welled up and rolled down his wrist. Forge stared. Did he . . . not realize he was doing that? He reached for the other mutant once again, determined to make him stop and Mort ducked away, chest heaving in a panic. "Don't! Get away!"

"No, I will not. You are cutting yourself up!" Forge caught his arm this time and started to pull him back toward the bunk, but Mort seemed to come back to himself. He elbowed Forge in the chest and put distance between them.

"What do you even want?! Leave me alone - it's none of your business!" He snapped at Forge, eyes wide and looking strangely molten in the green glow. Tears were slipping out of Mort's eyes and he didn't seem to register them as they fell.

"Calm down. Talk to me," Forge implored quietly. He didn't _have_ to know what happened, but he wanted Mortimer to be alright.

"What do _you_ care, Xman?" Mortimer sneered at him, not even looking at him. His eyes glazed over once more and . . . there went the hands again. Damnit.

"You are going to get infected if you keep - just stop it!" Upset and losing his patience, Forge once again dove forward to pull Mort's hands away from each other.

"Get_ away _from me!"

"But you're _hurting_ yourself!"

"It's none of your damned business!" Mortimer was sobbing now, pulling away from him. "Maybe I don't need you to save me! I don't need you, or the Xmen, or anyone--!"

"Look I don't _know_ what's going on," Forge said shakily, holding on despite the other's attempts to break away. "I admit that! Whatever they did, I know it was bad . . ." His mind raced for something to say, anything to calm him down. "But you're safe right _now! _It's over, okay? Everything's going to be f --"

He froze as the other mutant gave a scream of rage and pain and something unidentifiably heart wrenching. "_Nothing _is gonna be FINE!" Mort shoved him as hard as he could and Forge stumbled backwards - straight into the barrier.

Green light filled the cell for one blinding moment and when it cleared, Forge was down.

For Mortimer, everything jolted into sudden clarity. He gave a strangled yelp, covering his face with his torn hands. Oh, no . . . no, no, no! He hadn't _meant_ to . . .

Too long of a moment passed and Forge still wasn't moving. Mortimer scurried to his side, kneeling by the inventor and touching his chest gingerly. "Hey?" he asked in a small voice. "Don't be dead? Please, don't be dead?"

"Nnngh . . . ow." Forge opened one eye, then the other. Mort took a breath, unaware that he'd stopped breathing. Feeling awful, he helped Forge sit up. "That was a weird sensation," the man coughed.

"I am so sorry," Mort said miserably, unable to look at him.

"It all makes sense now," Forge stated, and Mort raised his head confused. "Contact with the barrier sent a warning pulse through my system - more to deter than actually cause any damage. I'm fairly certain the energy self-modifies itself by pulse frequency depending on the power level of the mutant prisoner in each cell.

"This morning I tried deflecting the energy with napkin balls, which didn't tell me very much. See, I needed to know how the beams worked against actual mutant contact, but I wasn't sure if it would just send out warning stimulus or actually fry my brain. I was too chicken to try it, but now I know for sure." He grinned at Mort, then coughed once more. "Definitely not going to try for a second opinion, though."

Mort blinked at him, worried. "_Did_ I fry your brain?" he asked.

"Don't think so. Maybe a couple of circuits in my arm and leg, but they're self-repairing."

"Um, what?" Mort was definitely lost now. He offered Forge his hands to pull himself up by, and didn't flinch when Forge examined them afterwards. His freak-out had been bumped roughly to the back of his brain in the face of nearly killing the guy. If Forge really wanted to be nice to him, he wasn't gonna argue.

Right now Mort's panic felt very far away and unimportant. It would have been nice if he hadn't known it would return with a vengeance by tomorrow. He sat next to Forge on the other's bunk, perhaps a little closer than necessary. "You have a mechanical leg _and_ arm?"

"Yup. Most people don't know, thanks to the glove." Forge didn't really know what to do about Mortimer's hands. "Speaking of gloves, what happened to yours? And to your shirt?"

Mort flushed immediately, realizing the guards hadn't given his clothing back. He curled forward, wanting to hide and immediately saw the stupidity in it. Wraith, plus guards, plus every mutant in every cell he'd been dragged in front of tonight had seen him half-naked - and they'd only have taken his shirt off again the next night anyway. "They've got it I guess. I apparently don't need all my clothing anymore."

Nervously he flinched down, wondering if Wraith would order him stripped completely tomorrow. He couldn't handle that - he just knew he couldn't. Mort started to pull his hands away but Forge held onto them.

"The gloves helped with this, didn't they? With the scratching?"

Gulping, Toynbee nodded. He still hadn't really looked at Forge. "Just squeeze my right hand as hard as you can, alright? I'd rather you do that than tear your hands up anymore." Mortimer glanced up at him in surprise. "Really, go ahead. It's made of metal, so you can't hurt me."

Despite the assurance, Mortimer merely held on. He didn't want to risk hurting Forge again.

"So . . . you want to talk about it?" Forge asked after a minute of silence had stretched between them.

Mortimer flushed, but he wasn't going to deny the man anything right now. "He didn't do much of anything," he admitted. "Wraith just . . . made it clear they aren't coming for me. I - I guess I already knew that. He just made me acknowledge it." His voice cracked on the last word and he wondered what the Xman must think of him now. It certainly didn't sound like a worthy thing to have a meltdown over.

"However he did it, he pushed you over the edge," Forge said softly. He sounded so damned understanding. Mort wasn't sure whether or not to hate him for it.

"He's going to do more tomorrow," Mortimer told him, unable to stop himself. "Until he gets me to tell him everything he wants to know. He said he could hurt me in ways that would make it look like he never even touched me. So when Pietro finds out I talked . . ." Damn, now he was shaking again.

Forge's left hand abandoned Mort's to clumsily stroke through his dreadlocks. It felt nice, soothing. Mortimer gripped Forge's right arm with both hands now, though still hesitant to take the Xman up on his offer.

"_If_ he finds out, he'll just leave me here. Or worse." Mort could feel himself getting wound up again. He leaned into Forge's hand, desperate. "I wanna say I'm not going to tell Wraith anything, but I don't knowif I can do that. And if I can't, there's no _way_ the Brotherhood are gonna take me home because they won't see any evidence of whatever Wraith did to me. I'm screwed no matter what."

Once again, Mort could not raise his eyes to look at Forge - who hadn't stopped. Mortimer didn't want him to, despite the fact that an _Xman _being kinder to him than his own Brotherhood was completely tearing him to pieces inside. "I'm . . . not a brave person. I don't know how to be. Maybe you do?" he pleaded.

Forge gave an uneven little laugh. "Ideally yes, I know how to be brave. I could probably give you loads of tips. I could also tell you that none of them would help _me_ if I was in that room alone with Wraith." He sighed. "I'dprobably talk until I was blue in the face. Most people would."

Mort looked down, hunching a little closer until his forehead was almost resting against Forge's shoulder.

"What are you afraid of him asking?" Forge tried. "It's probably better to think of all you know that could really hurt the Brotherhood. Think of the worst things you could tell Wraith and try to be as vague as possible when he gets to that subject. It might not work, but it's better than panicking about everything."

That made sense, actually. Mort thought for a while, not really coming up with anything. The Brotherhood had stopped telling him anything important for a long while now.

"Don't know if there _is_ anything I could damage them with."

"Even better." Except that Wraith would be hurting him for nothing. "Or not." It all depended on what Mortimer valued more. Personally, Forge was all for Mort telling Wraith anything he could and evading unnecessary pain. Maybe because he was pissed that the Brotherhood had just ditched the poor guy here without a second thought.

"How'd you end up with those guys anyway?" Forge asked, allowing Mort to lean against him.

"I was a stupid kid. My gang got in a fight with another one," Mort swallowed, remembering the events of that night far too clearly. A boy in rival colors who had to be at least a year younger than he was, curled on the asphalt around broken ribs and choking on blood. "I was with the Thirteens. We ran into the Diablos, they got into a territorial argument with us and it went bad. Knives were brought out, everyone just started fighting. I kicked a boy who lunged at me. I . . . I kicked him too hard."

He tensed, wondering if this was the part where Forge pushed him away. The Xman made a soft encouraging noise, but made no move to recoil from Mort.

"We heard shouts, sirens. Someone nearby on patrol must've heard us. First the Thirteens split, then the other gang. The - the guy I kicked was in so much pain. Maybe dying. I didn't know how to help him, but I stayed. Nobody else would stay." Mort was shivering lightly.

Then, where there had been a body on the ground, there was suddenly a blur of streetlights and Mort was somewhere sheltered and warm. A white-haired man in front of him told him that everything would be alright. That he was going to make sure of it. That Mortimer had a chance to do something with his powers that would help others like him. He could be part of the Brotherhood, who were going to help mutants rise above the flat-scanners who wanted to keep them down.

And Mort had been so damned scared of going to jail, of finding out whether he had killed, of facing the Thirteens and saying he was done with them - all he'd been able to say was yes, yes, and yes.

"Pietro got me out of it. Made a lot of promises. The rest is history, I guess."

"Huh. So you never really were a terrorist. Just someone who was in the wrong place at the right time?"

"I've still done some shitty things to people. I still think some of them deserved it. Just maybe not all of them," Mortimer said quietly. He'd never found out if the Diablo boy had survived that night. Honestly, he was still afraid to know, after almost a year. Wasn't he pathetic.

Arms went around him, and Mort nearly panicked not sure what Forge was doing until he felt pulled against the man's chest. His heart constricted and then released as he realized he was being hugged. Oh for the love of . . . Mort snickered and dropped his forehead onto Forge's collar.

There it was - the secret Xmen strategy. Defeating the world's baddies one hug at a time. Forge at least had the sense to look sheepish as he let Mort go. "Sorry."

"It's okay." It wasn't as if Mort had anything to complain about anyway, considering his generally needy behavior since he'd been dumped back in this cell.

Any belated awkwardness that might've pounced on this situation of compromised manliness fell flat in the face of how tired both mutants were. Mort couldn't summon the will to either give a damn or leave his seat on Forge's bunk, even as the X-man arched his back in a stretch. It really was late.

Or early, judging by the faint lightening of the sky visible through the bars. "You should sleep," Mortimer told him, staring at his hands. "I'm okay right now. I think."

"You're going to freeze. They don't even give us blankets. Or clean socks. Do they want us to get the flu?" Forge demanded to know. He blinked owlishly at Mort.

"Something like that." Mort closed his eyes for a moment. Just a moment, he thought. It was hard to open them again, but when he did it seemed that several minutes had passed. His head had a light buzz that suggested he'd dozed sitting up. A telltale snore revealed that Forge had lost out completely; he'd dropped his head to his chest and in fact looked to be in imminent danger of falling onto the floor.

Mortimer caught him around the waist and attempted to pull him further onto the bunk. Forge made a noise and muttered something unintelligible, trapping Mort's arm under his head as the mutant tried to arrange him.

He wound up sandwiched uncomfortably between the cold wall and a warm body. Mort sighed and glanced over Forge's shoulder at the empty bunk where he should rightfully be laying, shivering his ass off. The option didn't look very appealing. And technically, his arm _was_ trapped underneath Forge's head. The resulting dilemma was entirely the Xman's fault and Mortimer was definitely an opportunist.

And had he mentioned yet that Forge was warm? He'd give awkwardness its chance in the morning, right now he was fucking freezing and miserable and scared. Hero boy couldn't help but save him. Mort shifted as far from the wall as possible and curled against Forge, laying his head on the man's chest. Quietly, he watched the slow rise and fall of his breathing.

He could feel his mind drifting toward unpleasant thoughts of what tomorrow would bring. Sleep would not come for a while longer if he let that happen. Shaking involuntarily, Mortimer reached out to seize the fingers of Forge's metal arm. For a moment, he listened to Forge snore, the man not even stirring in his sleep. Then he squeezed until all the bones in his hand hurt like hell.

Only afterwards was Mort able to plunge into the darkness behind closed eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

It was inevitable that he'd talk. Mort had known he would - since that awful first night at least - but he hadn't known just how quickly Wraith would succeed in breaking him.

Pretty damned fast, it turned out.

Wraith lifted Mort's face from the water, allowing him to take in greedy gulps of air. Before Mort had gotten all his breath back, Wraith tilt his head back forcing him to look up at his interrogator. "We'll try this once again. I want you to give me a list of every place the Brotherhood could conceivably be at this hour. What type of building do they look for when choosing headquarters?"

Mort coughed and closed his eyes. "I . . . please . . ." He hadn't thought Wraith would ask what the Brotherhood _would _do and he was panicking, just as he'd been cautioned not to.

"I'm sorry, how rude of me. Clearly you are still thirsty."

"Wha -- No! No, please, n --" Mort was cut off as he was again plunged face-first into the basin of water and held under. He could not fight back as his arms were tied wrist-to-elbow behind his back. Likewise his legs were anchored apart, forcing him to kneel.

Tying him in such a helpless position had been more than enough to get his pulse to spiking, but Wraith was apparently a believer in excess for tonight. It hadn't been necessary to strip the rest of Mortimer's clothes away, for example, but he'd still ordered it done.

Mort's lungs were burning when the man finally pulled him up again. "Don't - please-!"

"You could answer the question, perhaps. Just a helpful suggestion."

"I - uh - abandoned warehouses? Sometimes foreclosed houses up for sale, or with the owners away on vacation - it all depends!" Mort rambled, trying to be vague.

"On what?"

"Pietro's mood! I don't kn-" Mort bit his lips hard to cut himself off. He'd already learned what would happen if he finished that phrase. "It depends on whatever we can find! We don't have a pattern - we try very hard not to have any!"

"They, you mean."

Mort's chest ached, but he managed an affirmative noise. "They," he agreed, brokenly. Wraith was correct; he no longer had any affiliation with the Brotherhood. Making him admit it still hurt like hell. "_They_ don't leave patterns."

"I'm afraid you'll have to do better than that, Toad. All criminals leave patterns, even if they are not obvious ones. What types of robberies might we look for?"

Wraith was smart. _Too _smart. Mort was afraid to say another word. He clamped his lips together, shuddering at the cost. This time Wraith forced him under for much too long - or at least it seemed to Mortimer. His struggles caused his left side to seize up in a god-awful cramp and only served to burn the air he was trying to hold all the faster. Terror made him inhale water without thinking.

Not a moment too soon, Wraith held him over the basin as he retched water out of his lungs. Mort trailed into painful coughing, watching the once clear water turn clouded and vaguely greenish. Wearily, he dropped his head against the rim of the tub and shivered.

"Well?" drawled Wraith.

"We . . . _they_ . . . would . . . usually go for food f-first. Then sometimes weapons. And bullets."

"And what type of places do they hit?"

"I . . . r-random places . . ."

"You are evading my questions," Wraith sneered. "Do you really _want_ to go back into that?"

Mort watched as the green slime separated from the water, swirling on the surface. "No," he begged.

"Then _what_ do they steal and where _from_?"

"N-Neena likes specialized gun stores! Small ones because they have b-better variety than the big chains! And-and for f-food we - _they_ - hit loading docks when the deliveries are c-coming in, s-so they don't have to go anywhere ins-side! And they g-get more food that way too!"

His tears were hot against his face. Even as he reasoned that maybe he hadn't told Wraith anything helpful, he knew it wasn't true. A terrible light had switched on behind Wraith's eyes - the man had learned something useful and he was pleased. All he had to do was go through the police reports, and he'd know which area the Brotherhood was currently in.

"That's more like it, Toad. Doubtless you've noticed that you are still able to breathe. I knew you'd catch on eventually."

Mort hitched and tried to curl down to hide his face. Wraith didn't permit him.

"Let's talk now about your former teammates. Who, I'll remind you again, left you here to suffer. No reason to protect them, is there?"

"But I thought-"

"That we were done? My dear boy, it's not even been an hour since you were here. You still have time with me."

"I don't know what else I can tell you!" he sobbed. "I've done enough!"

"I am the one with the questions, Toad. I assure you, you have plenty still to tell me. Now, your former allies . . . We'll start with Dominic Petrakis," Wraith said. "He hails from Greece, is that correct?"

"Y-Yes?"

"What area?"

"I don't know!" Mortimer blurted and then froze as he heard Wraith sigh. Spider-light fingers trailed down his spine, making him buck violently against his bonds as he tried to evade the touch. "No, no, no, I didn't mean it! PLEASE!"

"What area?" Wraith asked again, giving him a chance. His hand paused on the small of Mort's back as Mortimer forced himself to breathe deeply, heart hammering.

"C-Crete!" he managed to get out. Dominic had mentioned Crete once before - not that he'd really listened. There'd been a show about Komodo dragons on the Discovery channel and he'd been far more interested in that at the time. Mortimer wasn't sure if he'd heard Petrakis right, but he'd had to say something. He did not want a repeat of _that _particular punishment.

"Did he come to America alone or with family?"

Oh shit, shit . . . Mort didn't know _anything_ about Dominic but he knew about Freddy's sister, and he knew about Neena's . . . well, he knew about someone named Steve who was related to her somehow. Maybe a lover, maybe a sibling. Mortimer's guts were twisting with panic. Endangering them was bad enough, but their families too? He didn't want to _do_ this!

"No! He came alone after . . . after some sort of earthquake I think!" It seemed like a good story; Wraith appeared satisfied. More questions about Petrakis followed and Mort took care to answer every one - making things up as fast as he could think of them and telling as close to the truth as he dared to.

He had never been so disgusted with himself in his entire life.

Wraith let go of his hair finally and got up to walk out of Mortimer's line of sight. "Very good, Toad," he said. "I am pleased with our progress enough to dismiss you for the night."

Mort stared at the floor. His stomach seemed to be debating whether it hated him too.

"The next time we meet, I hope to get more information from you." Wraith's footsteps were coming back.

Something metal touched the inside of Mortimer's thigh. Recognizing what it was, Mort gave a wordless yell and struggled to move away from it. No use; its prongs bit into the sensitive flesh without mercy.

"I also hope that tomorrow's information - _all of it _- will be entirely honest."

There was a burst of electricity, followed by agony. He had no clue when it ended, coming back to himself only when he felt the guards undo his bindings and force him upright. The world kept sliding sideways and he couldn't seem to stop whimpering. The guards ended up dragging him beneath the arms back to his cell. Mort just let them.

He always knew he'd talk. He just never knew that it would feel worse than the torture itself.

They threw him back into the cell just as Mort's stomach reached its verdict. Forcing himself to his feet, he stumbled past Forge, ignoring the man's concerned questions in favor of becoming very good friends with the toilet. Forge might have even left him alone through that, if it were not for the fact he was sobbing uncontrollably between heaves.

Mortimer figured he had lost a few moments in between throwing up and lying down, for when he next opened his eyes, he was on his back on his own bunk and fingers were stroking his forehead. It felt good. Better than he deserved.

He also saw that something dark was draped over his body, covering him. "What's -?" he croaked, trying to sit up. Forge put a hand on his chest.

"They gave you back your clothes," he explained, smile a little strained.

Oh. So he was being rewarded now. For talking. Mort turned his head sharply to face the wall and felt Forge withdraw his fingers.

"Leave me alone," he muttered. He didn't want to be rewarded _or_ pitied right now. Mortimer made no move to redress and lay still under the clothing. He heard Forge give a reluctant sigh of assent and move away.

Mortimer would have been content to lie in misery and self-loathing for the rest of the night, if it were not for the sound of zapping that followed two minutes later. Forge yelped. There was a pause. Then it happened again.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Mort asked, glancing at the Xman.

"I've almost figured it out I think. Extended contact with the barrier will stun you, but quick touches do nothing but hurt a little. The important thing is, they draw power from the cells around us."

"So what?"

"So that might be our ticket out of here if I figure out how to do this."

Mortimer cursed and sat up, grabbing his pants. He dressed in the darkness as Forge again touched the barrier. "It's pointless. You're only wasting your . . ." Mortimer paused, in the middle of putting on his belt. He glanced at Forge. "Did you just say _our_ ticket out of here?" he asked.

Forge looked at him, expression unreadable, then went back to staring at the beams.

"Why? Is this some Xmen hero thing? You have to save everyone to feel good about yourself?" Mort didn't mean it to be cruel. It just came out that way. Seeing Forge's crestfallen expression made him want to take every word back.

Of _course_ he'd feel awful, Mortimer realized. Forge had been in the same cell when the guards came for him. Twice, he'd been unable to protect Mort from being taken. "Hey, it's okay. Really. You aren't any less of a hero just because you can't protect _everyone_. At least you care."

"Yeah," Forge said bitterly. "That's . . . nice of you to say. But I'm not a hero."

"Oh come on, don't be hard on yourself -"

"I'm really not, Mort. You in fact have no idea how - how _non-_hero-material I am. And I never used to care about that until now. If I was a hero? I would've thrown myself at those guards every time they even set _foot_ in this cell for you. I would've tried to attack them when they brought you back messed up. But I didn't. I was _afraid_ they'd do worse to me.

"A hero would want to get you out - only _you_ - so they can't hurt you again. I want to get _both _of us out. I don't want to stick around long enough for them to hurt me and I don't want them to be able to hurt _you_, because seeing what they do to you is _killing me_!"

Mort flinched at the degree of self-loathing in his tone. After a long moment, he moved toward Forge as the man sat down on his bunk. Understanding Xmen as a group was probably something Mortimer would never achieve in his lifetime. But right now, he felt as though he could understand Forge.

Quietly he sat beside the Xman, touching the man's wrist. "Sorry. For snapping at you," he told him, uncertain where to start.

"You've just been tortured. I think it's understandable."

" . . . I talked," Mort admitted shakily. "Wraith knows how to find them now. That's why he gave me back my clothes. I think . . . he still wants more."

"I'll get us out," Forge vowed. "I've almost got it. Really."

Mort knew better than to argue and leaned against him. He didn't want to get his hopes up. He didn't want to like Forge too much. This was obviously just a hero complex that both of them were in denial about. Forge would really just ditch Mortimer as soon as the Xmen showed up to bail him out.

Or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe Forge's rescue would happen while Wraith was interrogating Mort in that same damned room. He'd come back to the cell and find Forge gone, free as a bird.

That didn't really seem such a terrible thing when he thought about it.

"Hey," he said softly, deciding to play for optimism. Since Forge looked more down than he cared to see. "What's the first thing you want to do when we get out?"

Forge glanced at him in mild surprise, corner of his mouth turning up into a half-smile. "I'm going to go to the nearest Golden Dragon Buffet, and eat the biggest bowl of egg-drop soup anyone has ever laid eyes on."

Mort gave him a funny look. "Soup?"

"Oh god yes. Plus egg rolls, and rice, and whatever else looks like heaven. They have good pork buns too."

"You've _still _been craving Chinese food since you got here?"

"No, I just crave it again now. What about you? What do you want to do?"

What _would _he want to do? Mort stared at his hands. "Maybe I'll join you. I've never tried a pork bun." Not ever. He'd been eating whatever Pietro brought them, and Pietro was not particularly a fan of greasy Chinese food. Nobody in the Brotherhood was, except Fred who was a fan of all food in existence.

"Well, now you'll have to," Forge said, grinning at him. "After Wolverine rescues us and then kills me, I'll make him drive us both there so we can stuff ourselves."

Mortimer couldn't help but laugh as Forge put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer. "Sounds like a plan," he murmured, trying too hard not to envision how freedom would taste. "Count me in."


	5. Chapter 5

The explosion jolted Mortimer awake and he sat up - completely disoriented. A glance at the window told him that daylight was just barely retreating over the horizon and he'd only laid down for a nap. After exchanging bewildered glances with Forge, Mort snatched his shirt up that he'd been using it as a pillow and pulled it back on. The earth was rocking underneath them and there was only one mutant Mort knew who could do that.

Rather than feel elated, his stomach twisted with fear. Why were they coming for him now? Wraith must have done something - he must have . . .

An alarm blared loudly, causing both Forge and Mort to swear and cover their ears. Mortimer was surprised to find that his weren't bleeding by the time the aggravating noise cut off and thankfully ended in a burst of static. His heart was pounding hard as he looked at Forge again.

"The Brotherhood?" Forge guessed. His eyes had dark shadows beneath them. Mort remembered falling into an exhausted sleep last night, but he didn't know if Forge had.

"Yeah, probably," he sighed, wondering if he should look for a place to hide.

"Oh," Forge looked a little vexed. Mortimer felt a stab of sympathy; he'd obviously thought it was the Xmen. Maybe before Fred squashed him, Mort could convince the Brotherhood to take Forge home?

"I was actually just about to wake you," Forge started to explain, but he didn't get a chance. Something silver had darted past then circled around to stand in front of their cell. Pietro.

Trembling, Mortimer looked at the floor and tried to resist the urge to crawl under his bunk. Tense moments passed.

"Well? Aren't you glad to see me at least?"

Mort felt a jolt in his chest as his reality shifted. "W-What?" he blurted, looking at Maximoff in alarm.

"Me. You know, the guy who's going to get you out - _again_? I'd _like _to say I'm surprised you wound up here while I was gone, but . . . I guess I'm not." Pietro put his hands on his hips, staring at him flatly. Right. This would normally be the part where Mort cringingly expressed his gratitude.

He swallowed and clenched his fists, a little furious. Not at himself, for once. "H-How long have you been back?"

"Hey, this was the first available opportunity I had. Figured I'd let you sit tight for a while. Didn't miss me too much, did you?" Maximoff leaned against the wall. Chaos was still happening below, apparently directing all the MRD's attention. Mort felt his stomach drop at the implication of Pietro's words, but it was Forge who answered for him.

"Available opportunity? I thought you were fast enough to fit _anything_ into your schedule," the inventor said. His voice was colder than Mort had ever thought possible coming from him. Flushing a little, he looked at Forge and shook his head in warning.

Pietro grinned like a cat. "You've been trapped with an Xman for all this time, Mort? Okay, now I _do_ feel a little guilty for waiting." He became serious. "If you're ready to get out of this place, and I know you are, I hope you're prepared to make friendly with a couple new recruits. They'll be coming home with us tonight, so try to stay out of their way, huh?"

Now was his chance to salvage things. "What about him, Pietro?" he said in as neutral a tone as he could manage, gesturing to Forge. "We should break him out and dump him with the Xmen." Mort was very careful not to look at the man's expression. "Wolverine would owe you another favor."

Pietro paused in rapidly keying in the code to their cell to give Forge a glance over. "No, I don't think so. I _like _the idea of an Xman rotting away in here too much. The Xmen want him back? Let them go against all their little _morals _and break in here themselves." He finished the code and the beams disappeared.

Mort panicked and backpedaled toward Forge, grabbing the man's arm before Pietro could whisk him away. Maximoff made no move toward him and stood in the hall bemused, one hand still stretched out.

"Uh, okay . . . I said _no_, Mortimer."

Mort swallowed, still not letting go. "Come on, don't leave him here, Pietro. We can't."

Pietro stared at him and then sighed sliding a hand over his face. "Yes, we can. And furthermore, we will. He isn't your concern, Toad. What _is _your concern is how many toothbrushes you're going to use up by the time you finish cleaning _every single floor _of our new headquarters until they sparkle. It's a nice place by the way, three bathrooms and bedrooms for all. You'll like it. Now stop bothering the nice Xman, and come over _here_."

Mortimer only tightened his hold. He couldn't leave Forge here. He just couldn't. It didn't matter if Wraith tortured him tonight or tomorrow night or for the rest of his life; he could not _leave him here_.

At the same time, he was entirely aware of how stupid he was being. Freedom was only a step away right now, and he was helplessly standing still.

"Mort, go with them," Forge was saying lowly. "It's okay, I'm actually-"

"No," Mort said sharply. "I won't." There it was, the anger. Nothing to squash down anymore in the hopes that it would help the both of them get out of here.

"Toad, I have no time for noble idiocy right now. You have ten seconds to get your ass over here or I _will_ leave you."

"Well go ahead and count!" Mort yelled at him. "You're a - a _dick_ to just leave people in here with f-fucking John Wraith and guards who do whatever he _tells_ them to --"

"What are you talking ab-"

"Shut up, Pietro! Just _shut up_, okay?! You ditched me here like it was _nothing_! So maybe I don't want to go with you anymore, huh?! Maybe I'd rather stay here and _know_ what's going to happen - instead of getting left behind again to _wonder_!"

Pietro's face took on a range of emotions, the last of which was anger. He looked away, ending the show. "Spare me the guilt trip, Mort. You want someone to feel sorry for your own stupidity? Well, the village idiot's standing right next to you. Hope you enjoy each other."

A flash of silver and white, then Pietro was gone. But not before he'd palmed the security barrier back on.

"He's not the village idiot!" Mort called after him, outraged. "He's smarter than you! And he dresses better too!"

Dubiously, Forge looked down at his yellow and blue uniform. "Uh, really?"

"Well, you _are_ definitely smarter," Mort conceded. "But he does have better fashion sense. I just wanted to get him where it hurt the most."

"Oh, alright." Looking a little stunned at the turn of events, Forge turned his gaze to the barrier as Mort sat down on the bunk near him, disconsolate.

"So . . . How's the escape plan coming?"

"That's what I was going to wake you up about. I've figured it out."

"That's okay. I don't think after today Wraith'll have much time to -" Mort blinked. "You did what?"

"All figured out. Better yet, Pietro put even more power into the barrier than there was before. You can tell by the speed of the cycle - it's much faster." Forge sounded cheerful. He started to detach his metal hand at the wrist. "Usually the beams deflect particles if they aren't good conductors, but flesh is an excellent conductor. Metal is an even better one - I figure that's why we didn't get any silverware with our food.

"Since the beams are programmed to give warning shots depending on mutant tolerance of pain, they'll use more and more energy to get to the level that an obstructing mutant can't tolerate. The problem is getting a conductor to stay in place that can tolerate anything." Forge grinned at Mort. "That's where your slime comes in."

Mort looked at him and then at the beams.

"It's okay if I've lost you," Forge told him. "This is usually where my rambling is met with blank stares."

"Uh no . . . I actually get it. _All_ the cells in our area will be affected so when our barrier sucks up all the power and explodes, everyone will be able to get out?"

Surprised, Forge stared at him. "Um. Yeah."

"But won't your hand get fried?"

"Maybe, but the hand is replaceable. Interchangeable in fact. I'm my own action figure!" Forge stated proudly.

Mort grinned back at him, standing up. "Then what the heck are we waiting for dude? Let's get out of here!" He spat at the ceiling above the barrier, watching as the slime dripped down and hardened. Forge put the metal hand into the rubberizing goop and then swung it until the beams caught the metal appendage and held it there. He was right; the electricity seemed unable to release the piece of alloy in its grasp and Mortimer looked up in fascination as first the lights flickered uncontrollably, then the bars of the power cells began to wane.

It was getting hard to see past their own barrier due to the sudden brightness of the overworked energy beams.

There were echoing shouts over the intensifying whine of raised voltage, and suddenly Forge flung himself at Mortimer, pushing both to the floor of their cell and shielding Mort with his body.

The bang was frightening enough to make Mort flinch against Forge, but it was quick. He took a peek and saw first a metal hand on the ground and then the portal to their cell completely barren of the energy that had kept them inside.

"Hooray for cheap government spending," Forge rambled, helping him up. "I knew they'd cut corners. Clearly their electrician didn't put in enough power lines!"

Down the corridor, other mutants were hesitantly stepping out - noticing their new chance at freedom. "Come on!" Mortimer shouted, waving at them. "Shake a leg and move out while the Brotherhood's still got the MRD busy!" He could hear the explosions and gunfire at least, though Dominic had ceased to shake the earth beneath them. He grabbed Forge, as the man carefully picked up his charged hand with the spare glove.

Mortimer had the advantage of knowing these corridors more than he'd ever wanted to; he hadn't always been stuck in the same cell upon capture. Still holding onto Forge, he led the way towards the guard staircases which would most likely be unlocked. Fortunately they were. As the escapees passed other cell blocks, some of the mutants used their powers to fry the controls and free their fellow prisoners.

And on the first floor, there was still chaos. Mort saw Neena backed into a corner, firing with one weapon - obviously her luck was off today. He spat slime into the face of an MRD officer to her left, giving her a way to duck out. Her look of surprise and thanks as she maneuvered free of them was all Mort had time to take in, before he and Forge rounded the next corner toward the exits.

They surprised a line of reinforcement guards who stopped in their tracks. At the same time the escaping mutants skidded across the cement floor to slow down in the face of the new threat. The huge door was already sliding down on its tracks to trap them inside. Knowing they had no time and feeling recklessly brave, Mortimer grabbed Forge around the waist and jumped - clearing the air over the officers as they lined up to intimidate the rest of the escapees back into holding cells. He let Forge go and slammed his fist against the door controls, jamming it before it could continue its descent.

One mutant girl tossed a handful of glowing yellow energy bombs at the officers before they could fire and others joined in, breaking the MRD's already shaky line apart. They looked like they had things well under control.

Forge grabbed Mort's wrist, pulling him outside into the courtyard. They were in luck; this was the area the Brotherhood had entered and the perimeter fence was warped and torn open in one corner.

Making sure he didn't lose sight of Forge was no trouble as they ran to freedom. The man still had not - _would_ not - let go of Mortimer's arm.

* * *

The city was in chaos. Fires started by mutant powers and by MRD weaponry were everywhere to be seen, as well as broken glass and rubble. They had lost at least half of their prisoners at the main facility and were scrambling to make amends - rounding up mutants whether or not they were registered. If they were on the street at this hour, then they were as good as criminals.

Mortimer watched the street warily for any sign of officers as Forge made his call. Amazing, really. City looked like it was falling apart around their ears, but the payphones were all completely undamaged. And still charging more money than was sane.

Forge had been forced to make a collect call - which Wolverine didn't sound too happy about, judging by the yelling coming out of the receiver and by Forge's expression as he held it about a foot away from his ear. Mort grinned sympathetically at him and turned back to his task of street-watching.

Finally, Forge hung up and exhaled shakily. "Well, he's gonna kick my ass, but we've got a ride." He came over to stand by Mortimer. "I told him you were coming with us. I mean, to join us. If that's okay with you. You don't have to if-if you don't want - but I figured you'd want at least one night in a real bed. The food's pretty good too."

"No Chinese food for us tonight, huh?" Mort smiled up at him.

"Eh. Not craving anything with grease right now. Though I _could_ still go for soup."

"Man, what is it about you and - ACK!" Moving swiftly, Mortimer pressed Forge against the wall of the alley behind the phone booth, flattening him. A Prowler was trundling by, scanning the street for signs of their kind. He wasn't sure what would follow it. More MRD troops perhaps?

"Ow," Forge complained, catching his breath back. Mort looked up.

"I hurt you?"

"Not your fault, there was just a brick sticking out of the wall. Weird how some of the older buildings around here stay up no matter what happens to the city. The new ones are made to be really attractive, but the metal really doesn't -"

"Forge?"

"What?"

"Shhh. Prowlers and stuff, come on?" Mortimer reminded him. He was still pressed against Forge, though the necessity for that had probably long since passed. He was sure he could hear footsteps tracking the Prowler. Or maybe it was just the man's heart beating.

"Right, I know. I tend to talk too much when I'm nervous. Wolverine said he'd meet us here, but he knows how to avoid the MRD so he might wait a while, or do something freaky like step out of the shadows. There was this one time -"

"_Forge_ . . ."

"Sorry, sorry I know. I can't shut up. Nervous habit," Forge apologized. He leaned nervously forward against Mort, trying to see the street. Mortimer pressed him back gently, looking up at him. He knew at least one way to fix such a problem.

"I - I think he said it would take five minutes, maybe ten because the van was having some kind of transmission error last I was working on it and I don't know if - mmph . . ."

Forge found his lips captured somehow by Mort's and suddenly he didn't feel the need to ramble any longer. There weren't even any thoughts in his head to ramble _about. _This was in fact very nice. Kissing when nervous wasn't that bad of a habit to develop, was it?

He closed his eyes, wrapping arms around Mortimer's waist. No . . . this was a habit he could _definitely_ get addicted to.

END


End file.
